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Voting Mishap Results in Decapitation of Democratic Gubernatorial CandidateBill McBride killed by electronic voting booth, loses election November 11, 2002 |
Tallahassee, Florida Whit Pistol An unnamed Florida election official examines the machine that killed Bill McBride for error. The machine reportedly had no problem registering the late McBride's vote.
Hot on the heels of Thursday's admission that 100,000 votes in Broward county went uncounted until Wednesday, it was revealed Friday that Democratic gubernatorial candidate Bill McBride was actually killed by a voting booth.
McBride, a lawyer and political novice who ran unsuccessfully against Governor Jeb Bush, was voting in his home county when a reportedly faulty ballot machine handle swung back and beheaded the hopeful Democrat. It was not revealed if the unlucky son of a bitch was voting for himself or his opponent.
"We would have mentioned it sooner," said election official Marjoe Ramsey, "but we figured everyone had bad enough news to deal with, what with the Republicans winning everything....
hild, like Florida needed another election blunder!
Hot on the heels of Thursday's admission that 100,000 votes in Broward county went uncounted until Wednesday, it was revealed Friday that Democratic gubernatorial candidate Bill McBride was actually killed by a voting booth.
McBride, a lawyer and political novice who ran unsuccessfully against Governor Jeb Bush, was voting in his home county when a reportedly faulty ballot machine handle swung back and beheaded the hopeful Democrat. It was not revealed if the unlucky son of a bitch was voting for himself or his opponent.
"We would have mentioned it sooner," said election official Marjoe Ramsey, "but we figured everyone had bad enough news to deal with, what with the Republicans winning everything."
"And…?" said an older woman standing nearby, possibly Ramsey's mother.
Ramsey continued, "And we thought we'd get hollered at."
The dead Democrat fuck-up comes at a particularly bad time for Florida, still the butt of everyone's jokes after being the focus of the 2000 catastrophe that left George W. Bush the "winner" of that election. Florida's problems with computer-based ballots early this year proved voting errors were still possible, and the loss of 100,000 uncounted votes in Broward county was yet another screw-up that resulted in somebody's ass getting fired and leaving Florida unreliable to do in the future what 49 other states (and the District of Columbia) seem to have no problem with.
"Bill McBride was a good Democrat, and probably a good person," said McBride's primary opponent and possible drag queen Janet Reno. "It's a shame this had to happen to him. But if you're not tough enough for the voting booth, maybe you're not tough enough for Florida. I can't believe he ran against me! I could've beaten Jeb Bush. 'Jeb Bush.' Pussy silver spoon-chewing vote-hiding queerbait."
Jeb Bush, Florida governor and presidential brother, was told of the voting irregularities Friday and acted dismayed.
"Damn! Sorry to hear about that. I would have won anyway, you know." Bush shook his head and made a huffing noise. "I suppose now I know why I never got a concession phone call or nothing. Darn shame, folks. My condolences go out to his family, and to anyone else possibly killed voting, not to mention all the Jews and old folks whose votes and stuff got lost or misplaced. I guarantee all of these voting problems in Florida will be taken care of before I become president."
Plans for funeral arrangements for McBride are yet to be made, but expected to be carried out by next weekend. Currently Florida election officials are still searching polling places for the head. If found, please mail it to the Florida Electoral College or take it directly to Governor Jeb Bush. the commune news is all news and lemon-scented. Stigmata Spent is tall, leggy, and all womanly man, baby—cast your vote for strong and sexy.
 | Sniper Supsects Appear in Court Looking Like ShitMuhammad, Malvo look like they've been sleeping in a car or something November 11, 2002 |
Orange in November? Sorry boys, Halloween was last week.
"I have to admit I was a little disappointed," admitted Manassas housewife Thelma Russel. "I thought they might show up in some snazzy three-piece suits with silk handkerchiefs in the pocket, you know. Like Al Capone in that commercial for condoms. Something stylish that suggests they're above it all, you know? The kinds of guys ...
merica's least popular gunslingers since Young Guns 2, John Allen Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo, shocked an unshockable nation Friday, showing up in court looking like a couple of bagboys from an underperforming Food Lion in dumpy orange jumpsuits marked by a palpable lack of panache. Teased by weeks of anticipation and speculation, and frankly expecting more, America scrunched up its nose at the sight of these two decidedly un-dapper Dillingers.
"I have to admit I was a little disappointed," admitted Manassas housewife Thelma Russel. "I thought they might show up in some snazzy three-piece suits with silk handkerchiefs in the pocket, you know. Like Al Capone in that commercial for condoms. Something stylish that suggests they're above it all, you know? The kinds of guys you love to hate, but admire in spite of yourself. But these guys? Sheesh. I wouldn't even leave the house looking like that. Didn't they know they were going to be on TV? I guess it just says something about the state of our criminals these days. Pretty sad."
Muhammad, the supposed mastermind behind the duo's shooting spree, looked like he had failed to master the bathroom mirror that morning, sporting a nappy hairdo to make Kobe Bryant proud. A shaving kit had apparently also eluded him, as well as the fundamental principles of beauty rest. Too many nights spent on the lamb had left his eyes sporting more bags than a Tony Bennett concert, and this reporter suspects the county hoosegow must have been fresh out of cucumber wraps that week.
Muhammad's one "E" for effort came in the posture department, a welcome relief from his partner Malvo's parade of slouches. While Muhammad often looked like he had just sat on a fireplace poker, Malvo had more slouches on display than the 2002 Mets. This reporter had heard it said that Muhammad was able to dominate the young Malvo thanks to the latter's lack of a spine, yet I had no idea they meant it in the strictest clinical sense. This is one boy I wouldn't want to face in the Twister world championships, and not just because he'd probably shoot my ass if I won. I'm surprised they didn't have to cart him into the courtroom in a wheelbarrow.
Malvo's mauve jumpsuit was a welcome contrast to the teeth-clenching Hazmat orange of Muhammad's ensemble, but any chance the teen had of pulling off a courtroom fashion coup ala the lovely Ms. Winona Ryder was dashed by his grotesquely shambolic addition of gigantic white bunny slippers to complete the outfit. I don't know how he managed to sneak those past the prison guards, but they definitely should have put the fear of Mr. Blackwell into that young man, like they're paid to do.
Malvo seems more than happy to provide the much-needed comic relief in this trial, between his footwear choices, hilarious fake Jamaican accent and last month's slapstick falling-through-the-ceiling escape attempt, which was straight out of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Though if this trial is going to be remembered as anything more than yet another case of "Gun-Crazy Loon and His Funny Teenage Sex Slave," they're going to need to dig up another accomplice.
And preferably one who knows that Armani's not a branch of the Italian military. the commune news is a strictly pacifist organization, and we condone only the shooting of bullshit, intravenous drugs and war criminals. Lil Duncan wasn't assigned to this story, but she happened to be in Manassas on vacation when it happened. Rumor has it she was looking to see if the town lived up to its tantalizing name.
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 October 13, 2003 Basketsball JesusBoris has new funny nickname. Is Michael Jordans. Ha ha.
Is true, Boris is star of this game. No persons can slam the dunk like Boris and his many sweatbands. This is secret of basketsball, to wear many colorful sweatbands on head, arms and legs. This does tell other persons Boris is serious to win basketsball.
This all start when Boris is hanging in with friend Julio down by schoolyard. Boris and Julio always play game that is called "I am not Julio!" Is fun pretending game where Julio pretends him is not Julio and does not know Boris. Is Boris job in game to pretend him is Boris, which is easier part.
There is part of game where Julio does say funny mean goodbye things to Boris and goes to stand on other side of parking lot, always fun. But this ti...
º Last Column: Life Has Lemons for Boris
º more columns
Boris has new funny nickname. Is Michael Jordans. Ha ha.
Is true, Boris is star of this game. No persons can slam the dunk like Boris and his many sweatbands. This is secret of basketsball, to wear many colorful sweatbands on head, arms and legs. This does tell other persons Boris is serious to win basketsball.
This all start when Boris is hanging in with friend Julio down by schoolyard. Boris and Julio always play game that is called "I am not Julio!" Is fun pretending game where Julio pretends him is not Julio and does not know Boris. Is Boris job in game to pretend him is Boris, which is easier part.
There is part of game where Julio does say funny mean goodbye things to Boris and goes to stand on other side of parking lot, always fun. But this time when happens, basketsball persons does notice Boris and think of him as great lump of basketsball clay to be molded into hero person. Is true! Is like when funny persons in robes does go to find Deli Llama, them look all over place and under tables to find llama king, who is little boy person who was hiding and now will run deli. Boris is like this, but for basketsball.
Persons does teach Boris rules of game, which is to be broken like in Magic Matrix movie. Smart person can spin in air like karate boy and wax car with fighting. So crazy, but this is way of Japan.
Game does start but is trouble because Similar to Skippy follows Boris everywhere and basketsball persons is tripping on dog's cape. Does Boris tell of cape? Is early Halloween costume for Similar to Skippy; him is going to be Supermans for this day. Boris does get costume at Drugs Store and after trying on dog to see if fits, him doesn't not want to take off. Boris is hoping Halloween comes soon because plastic cape is so dirty like Louis friend Pigpen. Such mess. And persons starting to think Similar to Skippy is strange little man who does wear cape and fur hat all times. But is good because now dog can come to movies!
Boris ties Similar to Skippy to trash basket and is no more problems, except him does climb inside trash to get Burger King leftovers.
Now is Boris time to shine on basketsball court, which is like parking lot with no cars. Boris hides in back until persons does forget him is playing, then makes move! Boris runs and gets basket with ball on other court, where persons is not standing in way. Surprise attack is important part of Boris strategy.
After much yelling it is known that Boris new nickname is Michael Jordans. Very nice. Now persons is afraid to throw Boris ball because him is so unstoppable. Boris does get many sweatbands for next time of playing, and persons is so impressed that Boris is like Michigan Man. So fun.
But after few days of this Boris does come and basketsball persons is not there this time. So strange. Julio tells that persons are playing on other court in place that is secret from Boris, and his name not Julio.
Louis say persons is not ready for Boris way of basketsball, is ahead of time like Jesus. This is okay. Boris has fun times and now can get shirt made saying "BASKETSBALL JESUS" next time at mall, very nice. º Last Column: Life Has Lemons for Borisº more columns | 
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Quote of the Day“To sleep, perchance to dream. As long as I do not dream of being pursued by that creepy Duracell robot family, for that shit was truly too much for a soul to endure.”
-Robert ShakenspearFortune 500 CookieDo not take the road less traveled, 'cause the toll is complete bullshit. If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you? Your mother will finally find out this week. Two brutal assaults is a coincidence, three is a lack of self-control. Expect to be broken hearted this week, as the writing on the bathroom wall foretold. Lucky numbers all make a sum of 9.
Try again later.Top 5 Michael Jackson Trial Revelations| 1. | Sleeping with children in your bed only huge moral quaqmire—not illegal | | 2. | Elephant Man bones were delicious | | 3. | "Thriller" song autobiographical | | 4. | Body almost 78% artificial ingredients | | 5. | Jackson himself a delusional product of being raised in the spotlight; middle name Joseph | |
|   Scientists Discover Massive Burrito at Center of Galaxy BY harpooner johnson 8/18/2003 Freak Outs and Head Trips in Atlantic CityAtlantic City is like the orange shag carpet of a ratty first apartment, brilliantly bright and nasty. Filled with cigarette butts and alcohol stains that come out fully visible in the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights. And there's nothing but fluorescent lights in Atlantic City, flat and neon, gross and putrid.
Intelligent beasts don't go to Atlantic City of their own free will. Neither did I, and would never have set foot in the rectum of America had I not been on assignment for Boner magazine to cover the first of its kind Monty Python Fan Base Convention. Anything better but the scraps of altruistic sex magazines was something I couldn't ask for, troubled and washed out by all major journalistic outlets for my decadent behavior. Decadent by their standards, my own ha...
Atlantic City is like the orange shag carpet of a ratty first apartment, brilliantly bright and nasty. Filled with cigarette butts and alcohol stains that come out fully visible in the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights. And there's nothing but fluorescent lights in Atlantic City, flat and neon, gross and putrid.
Intelligent beasts don't go to Atlantic City of their own free will. Neither did I, and would never have set foot in the rectum of America had I not been on assignment for Boner magazine to cover the first of its kind Monty Python Fan Base Convention. Anything better but the scraps of altruistic sex magazines was something I couldn't ask for, troubled and washed out by all major journalistic outlets for my decadent behavior. Decadent by their standards, my own having fallen far beneath normal human radar. I had seen the best and worst in human kind, aspired for the heights of human achievement and rode on waves into the depths of the worst human endeavors. Saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness and plagiarized Ginsberg without second thought. In short, I took what I could get and what I could get was Atlantic City.
On the advice of my accountant, Mr. Bongo, I loaded a suitcase full of the world's most powerful stimulants, depressants, and psychedelic substances. He suggested it was in my best financial interest to buy the drugs in the poorer neighborhoods, rent a car with full insurance coverage, and take him with me so we could buy a matching pair of "I'm with stupid" T-shirts. If the Democrats ever got back into office I could probably write it off on my taxes.
The sniveling bureaucrat at the car rental place appeared to have stepped right out of a training film for the John Birch Society. Short, greasy hair that reflected the gleaming "Rental" sign perfectly, a suit with cuffs and pantlegs both just short of stylish, and the sweaty upper lip of a man who had ridden too far on the inheritance of slave traders. His impudently white skin grew paler by the minute as my accountant and I loaded our things into the rental. We had gotten him out of bed at midnight with the promise a big accountant would fill his fat polyester pockets before daybreak.
"Be careful with the car, or we won't insure it," he warned us with a snide drawl as I drove the car over ten other rentals lined side by side.
"I always test the tires this way," I assured him.
With a flittering, forgetful signing of some red-tape document we were on our way. It was a three- or four-day journey from Los Angeles to Atlantic City, but we were confident we could make it in six hours once the heroin set in. I personally filled the tank with my own mixture of half-gasoline, half-nitrous oxide for better mileage, and it appeared to be paying off as we were in Kansas within the first half hour.
Kansas is flatter than a band majorette's chest and only slightly more alluring, once you're under the influence of Scandinavian mosquito dung. It was a little something my accountant had picked up in a general store in the 1840s during a bad peyote trip. He had had to pay for it with a pocket watch and five consonant sounds during the rush of the drug. But it was worth every syllable as colors drifted between our eyelids and we both felt the wind sliding into our gullets like warm gravy. We decided to stop and pick up a hitchhiker, but it only turned out to be a hitchhiking camel in a bad disguise. He didn't speak English but he smoked feverishly. We didn't bother to ask him where he was going. He was just along for the ride, like we all were.   |
